Victory is Sweet
by jeromevaleska
Summary: After Jerome's raid on the GCPD, he comes back home to the penthouse to celebrate with his girl, and he brought a souvenir for you.


It was just after 10pm when you heard a heavy knock on the front door from upstairs that sounded like the police were here. You looked into the peephole to make sure that it wasn't and heaved a sigh of relief once you spotted the ginger through the space with a policeman's cap on his head.

You opened the door with a big smile on your face when you greeted him. "Ooh, how did it go? Did you knock em dead?" you practically squealed in excitement.

He skipped his way in before he kicked the door shut with his foot, his cackling immediately assuring you that you were correct.

"Oh, it was beautiful, wish you could have been there," he said with that devilish lopsided grin on his face. "Cleaned the whole place up, nice and easy, they didn't even see it comin'," he laughed darkly and walked towards you. You were half listening to what he said but your attention was more confused on his police uniform and how it hugged the contours of his body so perfectly, like it was made for him, which was very ironic.

You snapped your head up to look at him just in time before he realized. "I'm impressed," you giggled and noticed the specks of blood stained on his face, finding it to be very complementary of his features. "I wish I could have seen the look on their faces," you added with a loud laugh that sounded much like his earlier one.

"They were such babies, couldn't hold a candle to anything I could do," he chuckled with you as his eyes met your lustful gaze, "which is why we're going to celebrate," he told you in a whisper before he laughed again. Your lips curled into a sly smirk the second those words came out of his mouth.

"I like the sound of that," you replied around a silky purr.

"Oh and I got a little gift from you," he said with a big grin before he removed the hat from his head and placed it on your own, and it fit snugly. "You're going to wear that while we fuck, think of it like as a souvenir for my hard work today," he told you, and you nodded your head in agreement because who were you to deny him?

Then in an instant, he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, the kiss was hard and insistent and demanding, just how you loved it. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, and you could already feel the lukewarm heat spread through your body. It flooded your toes and fingers and pooled between your legs, stirring even further when his tongue passed over the swollen skin, the quiet groans against your teeth turning the stirring to a storm.

You both licked and nipped and sucked on each other's mouths and lips while he blindly staggered forward with you until he reached the room you two shared, plopping you down on the bed. He was quick to crawl atop your body.

"It's so rewarding coming home back to my girl after a long day," he cooed, his hands found the button on your pants and he undid it quickly before he yanked the zipper down in one swift motion. He pushed at your pants, your thighs peeking out from beneath the cotton, and you lifted your hips to shove them down the rest of your legs. "You proud of my work today, dollface?" he drawled.

"Yes of course I am, you did so good," you praised and giggled when you saw a wide smile cross his face.

"I hope you don't mind, but you're wearing way too many clothes," he said before he practically tore off your blouse in one rapid motion, then repeated the same treatment to your bra which you didn't mind in the slightest. There was nothing like celebration sex with Jerome after a successful day.

You squirmed as one of his strong arms wrapped around you, the fingers of his other hand tracing gently against the oddly sensitive spot beneath your ribs. His lips pressed to the swells of your breasts and—somehow, through the sensations—you noted that his fingers weren't swirling randomly beneath your ribs, but in precise motions.

J.

E.

R.

You gasped when the O was written on your flesh. The M had your toes curling, your back arching. If the E came, you didn't feel it, too lost in the heat. His groan echoed off the walls around you two when he lowered his head down and pressed his face to your bare breasts. Teeth brushed against your flesh, nibbling at the hardened buds, tongue soothing when they became irritated, and he listened to your sighs as your hand fell to rub against your panties, fingers tracing the warm outline of your center.

You moaned when he took a nipple into his mouth and your finger crooked a rather specific way, and that was it. You were lost in the haze, and willing to do whatever he wanted. His hands fell to find a strong grip on your thighs. A squeak escaped from between your swollen lips as he hefted you up against him, your breasts pressing against his collarbone. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders to keep yourself upright, but the other hand pressed beneath the collar of his shirt and into his skin, finding the spot behind his left collarbone that he enjoyed so much and massaging it urgently.

He answered by taking your shoulder between his teeth, and you couldn't stop your hips from jerking against his stomach, nor could you keep your moans in as he nipped away at your skin deliciously.

"Looks like you need new marks," he told you around a heavy breath as he glanced at the fading marks on your skin.

"Oh, fuck," you gasped, writhing against him as he sucked on your skin, dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh. He blew against the marks gently, cooling the saliva there before dropping you down his body slightly and setting his mouth to your neck. "Jerome," you uttered his name softly, your heels digging into the small of his back.

He sighed against you as his lips trailed up and down your neck several times, his teeth scraping every now and then. Slowly, he shuffled you both to the last stretch of the bed. When his shins bumped against the bed frame, his fingers left your thighs and hooked behind your knees before dropping you down onto the mattress, your back connecting with the soft sheets as you stared up at him. When your cop hat nearly fell off your head, he readjusted it to make sure it would stay still.

You sucked your lip between your teeth as your gaze wandered over him. There was a flush climbing up from his chest, tingeing the tips of his ears crimson. His chest rose and fell quickly, his hair was a mess, and the bulge in his pants was an enticing sight. You couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky.

He dropped to his knees in front of you and ripped your panties from your legs, his eyes finding yours and holding them as he dropped the undergarment to the floor and pressed his teeth to the inside of your knee, nibbling before moving further up your thigh. He took his time making his way towards the apex of your thighs, his fingers tracing up the inside of them as he pressed his mouth to the softer skin near your core. Nip, lick, suck, over and over, and you knew he was littering dark marks across your flesh.

Your back arched when his mouth came closer, sucking a mark rather close to your folds, and you wiggled your hips in an attempt to find relief—relief he wasn't yet willing to offer.

"Please," you keened, your hips bucking upwards. His mouth paused when he heard your plea, and he pressed a gentle kiss to his final mark.

"You're so fucking cute when you get impatient like this," he chuckled against your skin before he pulled away. Finally—finally—he threw your legs over his shoulders and inched closer to you, his breath fanning over the wet heat between your legs. And then there were lips, and tongue, and his nose pressing in all the right places. A strangled sound fell from your lips as he pressed the flat of his tongue to you over and over in long, heavy strokes.

Your fingers traveled down over your breast and stomach to press against his shoulder, silently asking for his hand. Seconds later, his fingers curled around your own, and your nails dug into his palm as he pointed his tongue and pressed it between your labia, his teeth and chin a welcome pressure against your swollen sex. In and out, once, twice, countless times. He knew you—knew how much you enjoyed the sensation, and the warmth of his smooth tongue.

His hand—the one not being destroyed by your own—traveled up your body, taking a breast into his palm and flicking his long, talented fingers over your nipple. You could hardly breathe. You tucked your lips between your teeth and bucked against his face, your open hand falling to bury your fingers in his hair and press him against you. When he moaned, you felt it, and you wanted nothing more than to fall apart before him.

His tongue didn't stop his attentions. Soft, tentative licks were brought upwards until he found the hard button at the top, but he didn't touch it. He teased, because he loved messing with you. Close, but not close enough. You didn't notice his hand left your chest and drifted down your body as you focused on the feel of him around your clit. Not until you felt a finger press into the spot his tongue had abandoned.

"Fuck, Jerome!" you cried.

A slow slide, the drag of his digit against your walls. Your chest heaved when he pressed with another finger, and then stroked and searched attentively for the spot he knew would cause you to become a babbling mess of sensation. When he finally found it, you felt you were choking on air, your lungs unable to find enough oxygen to satisfy.

You both knew what was next—what you needed in order to become putty beneath him—it was just a matter of figuring out how much he would prolong it. Thankfully, not long, because he breathed against you once more before covering you with his mouth and flicking his tongue against your clit. Then in an instant, every muscle, bone, tendon in your body went rigid, waves of pleasure running through your insides, and your hand rose so your teeth could bit into the skin of your palm.

Though, it muffled your scream, it was still louder than you wanted, but you found yourself unable to care as your thighs clenched around his ears, shaking with the force of your orgasm as your essence fell on his clever tongue. He lapped at you as you continued to convulse, and his hand tightened around yours, grounding you.

Slowly, you came down from your high, and your muscles went lax. His lips pressed kisses to the marks on the insides of your thighs. It took a moment, but your ability to speak returned, and the first thing you did was swing your heel weakly against his back.

"Tease," you mumbled against the back of your hand. You could feel him grin against your thigh, and it was both a great pleasure and a great irritation. Gently, he pushed your legs from his shoulders and stood. He used his heels to quickly remove his shoes, and then his knees were pressing yours upwards as he crawled over you.

"You look so flushed, dollface," he pointed out cheekily, one of his arms propping him over while his other hand smoothed over your ribs, stroking your breasts.

"Asshole," you said in playful tone.

"Bitch," he retorted.

With a peal of laughter, you reached up and began to attempt to undo the snaps and buttons on his dress shirt with fingers still shaky from your orgasm. What you lacked in finesse—at least for the moment—you more than made up for with enthusiasm, and soon the shirt was open and being pushed past his shoulders. He knelt over for a moment, but once his chest was bare he was over you again, leaning down to tenderly press his lips to yours.

"I need you so much," you muttered against his smile, your fingers combing through the fine hairs over his pectorals.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth and swept his tongue across it before leaning back, his eyes glinting as they found yours.

"Oh we're getting there," he promised in a gravelly tone. With some of your strength and a grin returning, you leaned up and kissed him once more before giving his shoulder a gentle shove. He rolled off of you and landed heavily on his back. You followed, your arms on either side of his chest as his arms reached up to stretch, pulling muscles and skin taut. His back arched momentarily, ribs brushing against your nipples. When he settled back down on the mattress and caught your infatuated gaze, he flashed you a smug grin.

"Get over here," he rasped. You snorted as you moved to kneel between his thighs, his calves hanging over the edge of the bed, and then focused your attention on the button and zipper on his pants. When they were loosed enough, you tucked your fingers beneath the waistband and pulled them down as far as they could with your position, along with his underwear. His member—hard and heavy—freed itself and fell against his stomach, twitching and smearing clear liquid against his skin.

Your eyes dropped to his erection, heat curling your toes. Your gaze reluctantly left his shaft to move to his eyes, and you found him propped up on his elbows, watching you with wide eyes, large pupils, and his tongue poking out from between his lips. His natural flush had darkened, his chest and shoulders painted red. You rubbed the pad of your thumb against the underside of his cock and he released a sharp intake of breath upon the gesture, and a shallow thrust as he leaned his head back.

Taking your lip between your teeth, you shifted to allow your thighs to generate a small friction against your center and squeezed your fingers gently around his cock, stroking from base to tip with a practiced fluidity. He moaned beneath you, hips rising to meet your strokes as his breath came faster.

"I said, get the fuck over here," he hissed out. His hand came down a moment later, grabbing at your shoulder and pulling you up. Your knees came to rest on either side of his waist as your sex gently settled over his erection, your arousal coating him as you leaned your hands on his chest. Whimpers erupted from both of you when his hips pressed upwards.

His hands grabbed at your hips as you shuffled atop him only to move them to your chest when you began rolling your hips. His fingers kneaded, stroked, his thumbs pressing over pert nipples and making you shudder and dig your fingernails into his shoulders.

"Oh fuck, yes," he groaned. His hands left your chest to once more grip your waist, pulling you downwards as he pushed his feet to the floor and the backs of his shoulders into the mattress, rolling himself against your slit. When your hat nearly fell from your head, you pulled it on tighter and pressed it back down which made him emit a laugh in amusement.

You leaned further over him—angled yourself so his tip rolled over your clit with every thrust of his hips—and couldn't stop the strangled moan that dripped from your tongue. Every slow drag built the tension growing in the bottom of your stomach. It rose and rose and rose, and you found yourself rising up on your knees shakily, your breaths ragged as you reached down with both hands, taking his erection in one and spreading your folds with the other.

A string of garbled words left his throat as you shifted your knees slightly and pressed the head of him to your slick opening. Slowly but surely, you sank down, feeling the press of him on every inch of you, the slide of heat that pulled at you until you were seated on him. You willed your hands to move steadily as you smoothed them over his chest, shoulders, ribs, needing to feel him everywhere.

"Oh fuck, keep going, that's it," he said between long, heavy breaths, a glint in his eyes as they pierced yours, and it spurred you on. You smiled, your thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin, your heart swelling.

You could hear him take in his breaths as he tried to control them, both inhaling and exhaling through his nose. A quiet moan left you when you leaned over him, your lips covering his own, tongue finding his in breathy gasps and warm, wet strokes. Hands reached for each other and fingers laced together when you settled back on your knees, palms pressing as you better arranged your legs.

And then, leaning your weight against his hands to give yourself some leverage, you lifted yourself. Your muscles clenched around him as his shaft dragged tantalizingly against your walls, his fingers squeezed, your thighs trembled. Breathy curses shot from his tongue as you wiggled your hips and began to sink down against him once more. It was slow—too much so. At this rate, you two would either be interrupted or drive each other mad.

Reluctantly, you pulled your fingers from between his and planted your palms firmly against his chest. His own fell against your hips, eyes catching yours, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. He thrust his hips upwards, nudging himself that small bit deeper inside of you and pulling a moan from your throat.

With fingers pressing into muscles and supple skin, you both moved together. He lifted to aid your tensing thighs as you pressed down when his hips rose to meet yours. Breath left both of you quickly as he thrust up into you over and over. Your eyes fell from his to look down your body, to your breasts, to watch his cock delve into you. Though, you—at some point, somehow—had come to hold yourself stationary above him, he had set a pace, rising to meet you.

His grunts echoed in your ears, and your toes curled. He pushed up inside you once more and released your hips to pull your chest to his, wrapping his arms around you before rolling you two, pressing you back into the sheets. Though one of his hands remained curled behind your back—arching you against him—the other planted itself on the mattress, and he used it for leverage as he pulled back before pounding into your slick heat once more.

Your mouth fell open in moans and whimpers as he pressed into you. You cursed, a groan against the skin of his shoulder, followed by his name in two separate, stuttered parts as your legs spread further and your ankles hooked against the back of his thighs. Every thrust dragged his torso along yours. Chest hair brushed over your nipples, his abdomen riding along your stomach, and still he wasn't close enough. Your hands found his back and pressed him down onto you. With every movement, he would stutter briefly before curving his spine and digging into you even further, and every muscle in your body would clench.

When the rhythm he set began to falter, his teeth found your neck to leave more marks. He could write his name on your forehead so long as he didn't stop. You could feel yourself tightening around him, and you dug your fingers into his back, lifting your hips to meet his every thrust.

You were sitting on the edge, and he must have known it, because he settled the length of his body completely along yours and dropped the hand that had been propping him to slip between your bodies. His fingers ran across the slick skin at the spot you both joined before rising to press against your clit. You leaned in and bit into his shoulder as he rubbed small circles around the nub. His fingers twitched in a specific way, his cock rammed into you and—with a high-pitched noise you would be ashamed of later—you fell.

You felt wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure through your core, and every part of your body found some way to cling to him; your hands scrabbled against his back, ankles dug into the back of his legs. You wanted to scream—more than anything you wanted to scream—but your throat felt like it had collapsed as your jaw locked on his shoulder. The pads of his fingers continued to massage your clit, his cock still thrusting into you at a stuttered pace, and you continued to fall apart beneath him.

He tumbled over the edge with you, a strained grunt echoing in your ears as his hips rammed against yours one final time. His thighs jerked and he pulled you tighter against him, spilling himself into your tight heat.

Together, the two of you went limp, bodies twitching and sending aftershocks up your spines as you laid together. It took several moments for your breathing to return to a normal pace. Only then did Jerome allow himself to slip from you, his breath a heave, and he settled lower on your body, his hand dropping to rest on your chest. Your hands were shaky as they rose to run through his hair. A contented moan vibrated against your collarbone and you smiled before repeating the motion with one hand and allowing the other to draw lazy circles between his shoulder blades.

"You were so good today," you praised, your voice still not completely there. "You definitely earned that."

His lips curved in a smile, and you could feel it against your skin. He purred in approval, "Of course, I always do."

He nuzzled his head into your breasts before he peppered wet, sloppy kisses on the soft mounds. You laughed airily and dropped your head back against the mattress. You sighed happily as your fingers continued to pull his hair from his forehead and felt his fingers—still somewhat shaky—trace patterns into the skin on the side of your rib cage.

Exhausted, the two of you curled on the bed, and he told you all about his raid on the GCPD, laughing as he recalled the events just before he came home to you, foreheads finding each other, fingers stroking. You could feel the rest of the world fall away, and losing yourself in the moments like these—like the laughter, the smiles, the tender looks—made your crazy, wild, unbelievably fun relationship with the ginger even more worth it.


End file.
